by Dr. Margaret Aranda
It was my Father. I knew it was him, and I had no fear.
My Father held me, and his arms and his scent were familiar to me. In fact, I can still smell him if I close my eyes and reminisce just a little bit. There. I can do it now. I know he is gone but it's almost like he is just next door, always there.
It was a summer day, sun beaming into my grandmother's San Antonio living room. The smell of bacon and coffee emanated throughout the room, boastful of the electric percolator that gurgled and puckered its congenial hellos to the morning. My uncles and aunts crowded the room, as well as my cousins, and the room hummed with conversation here and giggles there.
Children were running about, in and out the front door, boisterously slamming the screen door behind them. The reason why I remember who was there, is because I was looking down on them all.
I could sit straight up, and no doubt my curly dark brown hair was tossed all about. I didn't care about anything except my Father. He told everyone,"Watch!" My Mom echoed the usual, "Oh no, honey, your'e not going to do that thing again, are you?" She was simply horrified and really, she was quite disgusted. MORTIFIED! My Dad told her to relax. She just stared at us. I didn't care. I just couldn't wait!
|Image 1. Up! Up! Up! I closed my eyes and tried with all of my might to hold in the excitement. I was sitting in his hand now, his right hand.|
Slowly, ever so slowly, as I was Sitting on The Edge of his hand, he started to lift me up. He lifted me Up! and Up! and Up! and Up! Straight up to the ceiling we went, and I closed my eyes and I held in the burst of exclamations as tight as I could. Up! Up! I went, dreaming of everything and dreaming of nothing. I was On The Edge, and that was where I was going to stay. I had no fear.
My Father would hold me up, just like he always did.